**Inspired by another dream I had, about two years ago... I never forgot it. It needed to be written down, in some form...**

Notebook flipped open to an empty page

Pencil in hand, eraser in range

A mess of ideas desperately waiting to be written

But yet I think to myself, "Where is my inspiration?!"

Empty, like a useless vessel, I feel

If I was really blessed with such an incredible gift

Why am I not pouring it out to the world?

Oh what a God-given gift I have blessed with!

The gift to design a world of my own

The gift to sing without a voice

The gift to fly on the wings of the wind

Sparrow
No pretty song to recommend me,
No colorful coat of which to boast.
Little wings in dusty brown,
Black eyes of no importance
And an earthy song
Are all I lay claim to.
Others birds laugh and sigh
To see such a bird as I,
Who lacks even a tiny splash
Of brighter color.
Yet happiness fills me
And I sing despite my
Awkward harmony.
For I own a piece of the sky...

Note:  I've posted this essay on my blog, www.jimmyboone.blogspot.com.  Comments are welcome here of course, but if you wish to further the discusson on this topic or debate it, I suggest that you comment on my blog, as you probably do not want to use up your comments here (and also, this site isn't really meant to be a debate forum).

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It’s a three legged stool of control.

They’ve taken the second leg, and they’re after the third.

I stepped out into the expansive back yard, the cool breeze whispering through my hair. The sun was low in the sky, throwing a reddish glow onto the nearby clouds. The air was crisp and cool, a perfect fall evening. A light mist hugged the ground, shrouding the trees.

"Will, where are you?" I called, searching the trees for a sight of him.

"I'm up here," I looked up to see Will's smiling face perched on the thick branch of a poplar tree.

6.
To keep yourself warm
You have one golden ember
How do you make it to April
When it’s only December?

It shimmers ahead
in the midafternoon light
and the warmth and the sky and the sun
and the grass's finally green again
but the trees are still bare--
It shimmers, distant, but there.

Feet on the pedals,
three fingers on brake,
and already there's breeze and the catch
of warm breath in throat, and push off
and wobble a bit as it starts--
then gliding, and blurry and sharp.

I wonder what has happened
to the days
when life was carefree.
I wander as I wonder,
as I look, but I don't see.
Yet still I wonder,
wandering yet,
Ceaselessy searching,
for a way to get

love
truth
beauty

without

strife
hatred
pain

where can I find
the hidden virtues of the heart,
they're buried deep,
they've been ignored for so long.
Yet they've been there all along.

The rain starts to pitter-patter every house's rooftop. Pit-pat, begins the steady rhythm. Then it begins to grow to something loud. Something frightening.